


The Boat

by Anteros



Series: The Boat [1]
Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-09
Updated: 2014-04-09
Packaged: 2018-01-18 19:47:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1440604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anteros/pseuds/Anteros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The outline of the boat floated in his vision, light against the black sea, the flare illuminating the pale figure lying motionless across the spars."</p><p>After their return to Ferrol, Hornblower is haunted by dreams of Kennedy's loss on the night of the engagement with the <i>Papillion</i>.  Surprised to be woken by Hornblower's nightmare, Kennedy does not condemn him, but neither can he absolve him of his guilt so instead he resolves to distract him from his conscience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boat

**Author's Note:**

> An imaginatively titled piece for the [](http://following-sea.livejournal.com/profile)[**following_sea**](http://following-sea.livejournal.com/) [Boats Challenge](http://following-sea.livejournal.com/tag/challenge:%20boats), inspired by this image.
> 
>  
> 
> [ ](http://ic.pics.livejournal.com/anteros_lmc/24047468/488362/488362_original.jpg)  
> 

Hornblower squeezed his eyes shut, blinded by the flash of the gun from the deck far below. The outline of the boat floated in his vision, light against the black sea, the flare illuminating the pale figure lying motionless across the spars. The gulfs of air swung dizzyingly below him and he gripped the yard tightly. He could feel splinters under his fingers. The men fighting on the deck far below were tiny and oblivious as ants. Didn’t they realise? The boat was drifting away, they had to stop fighting. He tried to shout out to them, to make them understand, but the words were whipped from his mouth. Then suddenly a searing pain in his temple, obliterating the fear and the panic. He blinked once, twice, let go of the yard, and fell. Down into the darkness, down towards the boat. But even as he fell, he knew the boat had gone, taking with it everything he had ever loved and cared for, swallowed into the blackness where the night met the sea. Nothing else mattered now. The cold black water was closing over him, forcing the breath from his lungs, blotting out everything but the shimmering image of the boat, receding into the night, until it was little more than a tiny speck of light. He tried to reach out to it, to catch it before it disappeared into the darkness and was lost forever. He could almost touch it, his fingers were about to close around the faint glimmer that had been the boat, that had been light and life and Archie. But just as he was about to reach it, strong rough fingers were grasping him by the shoulders and dragging him away from the light, back up through the black water, back up to the surface, back up to where the boat was gone, leaving nothing but a faint outline illuminated by the flare of the gun.

Hornblower struggled up from the depth of the dream. He knew it for what it was long before he reached the surface of consciousness. The dream had been his constant companion for years now. He breathed slow and deep, waiting for his pounding heart to still. He kept his eyes closed, it was part of the ritual; as long as his eyes were closed he could still see the outline of the boat, light against the darkness. And as long as he could still see that light, there was still hope. But it was growing fainter, as days had passed into months and months into years, the pain only increased as hope receded with the fading outline of the boat. Hornblower squeezed his eyes shut and focused all his will on retaining the image of the boat before it dwindled and vanished with the last remnants of the dream.

“Horatio.”

The hand on his shoulder was tighter now, shaking him, and there was a familiar voice somewhere near.

“Horatio.”

That was wrong.

“Horatio, wake up.”

This wasn’t how the dream ended.

“You’re all right, you were dreaming.”

Horatio struggled to open his eyes and order his senses. It took him some moments to focus on the familiar stone walls of the cell, the dark boards of the bunk above him. Dim grey light was filtering in through the barred window. Archie was there bending over him one hand on his shoulder, the other lightly caressing forehead and cheek, smoothing damp curls from his brow. His hands were cool and reassuring, anchoring Horatio back in the present.

“Are you all right? You were shouting. You woke me up, but I couldn’t make out what you were saying.”

Horatio turned his head towards Archie, it wasn’t yet dawn but there was just enough light to see his face, pale still, his brow creased in obvious concern.

“I keep seeing the boat.” Horatio wasn’t sure why he said it, but he couldn’t think what else to say.

“The boat? Which boat?” The furrow in Archie’s brow deepened. “The one we took out to the Devil’s Teeth?”

“No,” Horatio hesitated, “the night of the Papillion. I saw you from the yardarm, I tried shouting to the deck but they didn’t hear me, there was nothing I could do…” His voice trailed off helplessly.

“Oh.” Archie’s hand stilled on his shoulder. “That boat.”

Archie turned his head away, his mouth set into a tight hard line. Horatio was drowning again, overwhelmed by a crushing wave of guilt and regret. This was his doing, his fault. He was the one who had struck Archie down and left him to his fate. That he had survived, that Horatio had found him again, that he had restored him to the Indefatigable, did nothing to wipe the slate clean. He had led Archie back to captivity after a single night of blessed freedom, to satisfy nothing more than his own selfish pride, and that could only compounded his guilt.

“How is it that you came back here Archie?” Nothing could assuage the guilt, but some perverse notion of honour compelled him to ask. To hear the condemnation from Archie’s own mouth was little more than he deserved.

“How?” Archie turned his gaze back to Horatio, the tight line of his lips crooking into that familiar half smile. “I seem to recall I followed you into a boat and, well, here I am.” He spread his hands in a gesture of mocking supplication.

“Archie…” Horatio was equally relieved and exasperated at Archie’s unwillingness to condemn him. “I should not have spoken for you. You need not have followed me. You should not have…”

“No,” Archie interrupted. “I probably shouldn’t have, but alas I did, so you will just have to put up with me.”

The hand that had been resting on Horatio’s shoulder was sliding unto the open neck of his shirt, caressing over his collar bone.

“Archie…” Horatio attempted one last remonstrance, but the name that escaped from his lips was more plea than admonition.

Archie’s eyes were shining now, blue in the faint dawn light, his sure rough hand moving lower, down over Horatio’s chest. He bent his head low, lips moving up Horatio’s neck, along the line of his jaw.

“Think of it as a penance if it pleases you.”

Horatio closed his eyes, the image of the boat had gone, and there was no condemnation from the lips that met his own. 


End file.
